Filling In For Beth Part 6 free porn video

Filling in for Beth - part 6 "Without further ado! I'm proud to present! Coach Hannover!" speakers announced from all around the stadium. The college president, a short, impeccably suited man with graying temples swept a hand toward Tom and stepped out of the way. They shook hands, the athlete and the academic, and Tom stepped to the microphone. I'd picked up the gray suit from the dry-cleaners the day before and pressed the shirt this morning, so he looked sharp. Seeing my old boyhood friend up there with thousands of people waiting for his words was otherworldly. Would he tell a fart joke? Would he refer to the president's wife as a whore? Surely not. To his left, three steps down from the podium, Rachael looked tiny and frail in a thin, mottled green and white silk dress that I begged her not to wear. The arms were sheer and the hem barely covered her knees. She clutched her hands in front to keep it from blowing up in the swirling wind and pinched her knees together for warmth. I'd pinned her hair back earlier and, even from high up, her cheeks and ears shone red. What kind of parent lets a child go out dressed like that? I'd fought hard for something warmer but with Tom more busy than ever preparing for the final home game and after a major victory earlier in the week involving a pushup bra, I had little bargaining power. She'd been wearing a heavy overcoat when I left the girls with Tom to take my own seat, high up in the stands, far above anyone who might ask questions. She stood by herself in a small clearing of towering football players in their helmets and shoulder pads. Could that little girl be the same young woman who'd strutted around my kitchen in heels and a low cut top just a few days before, lecturing me about what 'everyone is wearing now?' The wind shifted, pressing the dress to her girlish frame. A monstrous, helmeted figure stepped forward to offer his even more monstrous overcoat but she waved him away with a pretty smile. Susan rode above the mass on someone's shoulders, her hair held in place by the thick stocking cap I put on her earlier. Good girl. Thankfully the speech was short. It might have even been eloquent, the crowd stood and cheered like it was, but all I could think about was that freezing child down there. Once the cheering started there was no point in even standing. Two large, drunk students in the next row down completely blocked the view. My phone chirped. Rachael's chirp. At the far end of the tunnel Rachael struggled to escape what appeared to be a cheerleader in 4 inch heels. They were the only two figures to be seen, silhouetted in the bright stadium lights. Rachael clutched Tom's dress coat around her shoulders like an overcoat and the cheerleader pulled on one arm. The clatter of the cheerleader's heels echoed in the tunnel. "I need this back right now. The game is starting," she said impatiently. That echoed too. Rachael saw me, put her head down and broke into a run. The cheerleader tried to keep up, clattering in the heels, but she lost her grip. Rachael's face was like an ice-cube in my neck. "You must be the nanny," the woman said with a sniff, irritated and panting after the short run. "Coach Hannover needs his jacket back." She stopped and held out her hand. Up close I could see the perfect legs were actually flesh-tone tights, for warmth, and the flawless face was closer to 40 than to the 19 years I'd suspected at first. The top was a flesh-tone body suit as well with the team halter-top over it all. The ample rack was real. Tom told me. So this would have to be Amanda. At the dinner table she was Miss Rawlings, a minor team booster and former cheerleader who enjoyed reliving the old days apparently. Officially, as far as the girls needed to know anyway, Tom had been on a few dates with her since I moved in. Honestly, I couldn't remember why she was important, family money or something. Tom liked the boobs obviously. They bounced wildly when she ran. In the bedroom he'd been less charitable. "Ten minutes after you meet her, all you can think about is shooting a load into her mouth," he'd said. "And that's the problem." Life is tough for our Tom. "If you want to keep your job you'll get his coat off this brat right now," Amanda hissed. "He's expecting me." She pulled at Rachael's sleeve again, hard. It was calming in a way. Once we know who the bitch is, the decisions get easier. I turned Rachael away and brought my face closer to Miss cheerleader. She had a good three inches on me but it was all heel. "Touch her again and you'll get a bloody nose," I said quietly. You may judge me for threatening to hit a girl if you want. Her face said she believed I would do it and that was enough. Her mouth hung open and I imagined a dick in there. "Tell Tom that Morgan has his jacket. We'll be in our seats," I said as calmly as my shaking knees allowed and started off down the tunnel with the shivering child, daring the bitch to stop us. Which, of course, she didn't. "Watch yourself," she said in a menacing tone behind our backs. The words echoed in the confined space. "He'll be tired of you soon enough, slut." From time to time the drunk students would part and we could see Miss fake cheerleader in the seats down front. I have to admit, her boobs, ass and hair were pretty awesome. Fortunately she couldn't see us huddled under the wealth of coats and blankets I wisely brought. This wasn't my first football game. It took until halftime for Rachael to thaw enough too speak then we began to plot Miss Amanda's demise. + So yeah, Tom was dating. Bitches apparently, which was probably for the best. He didn't bring them home at least and, thankfully, that wasn't because of me. He could have easily explained me away as the nanny in any case. No, the reason he didn't bring them home to meet the girls was because none of them measured up to Beth, except for maybe in the size of their breasts. He just needed the sex. The girls met one or two of his former dates at some school event or other and didn't have much to say good or bad. They were 'pretty' which I kind of figured was the case. Ya know? I got a lot more information than that in Tom's room. "Hey, I didn't tell you. I finally nailed that slut Amanda last week," he said one night out of nowhere. Think about it. It took Mr big shot Tom Hannover close to two months and a half dozen dates to nail her. Does that make her a slut? Not that I cared what he called her. And I hadn't even met the bitch at that point. The vanity mirror is angled so I can see him on the bed, or so he could see Beth, I'm not sure which. I was brushing my hair. He stretched out his arms overhead, pulling the hem of his t-shirt up, revealing an inch of skin on his side. He is as smooth and pale there as a girl. He grunted and arched his back. The computer slide off his lap but I looked away in time. "God Damn! That was a good nut to bust!" He said in a sudden bark. I laughed, unsure how I felt about that. It had been pretty obvious when he got laid. The next day, Saturday, he was so chipper and happy that Susan asked what was wrong and his dirty clothes smelled of strange perfume and sex. So I'd already figured it out and wasn't sure I wanted to know more. Curiosity got the better of me. "Yeah, was she worth all the buildup?" I asked. "It sounded like you didn't like her." To avoid his eye I grabbed a tube of lipstick and extended and retracted the red point a few times. There's something lurid about it. "Oh, you mean the blowjobs," he said after thinking about it for a moment. He shifted on the bed, making me look. The computer was back on his lap. "Yeah, that was worrisome at first but I talked to a couple of the guys about it. They say that's how it is these days, especially older women. They don't want the jiz like they used to. I've been spoiled all these years." He typed furiously while speaking, angry or maybe sad about the news that older women don't want his jiz like they used to. Poor Tom. "I told you about when she cornered me in her office, right?" he asked without looking up. Apparently, as Tom told the story, she oozed into his office one day in 'fuck me' pumps, closed the door, undid a number of buttons and pushed her tits at him, all while sucking on a pen. Then she acted all surprised and offended when he suggested a quick hummer behind his desk. This kind of thing happened more than once. So, basically, she'd been a prick tease which is why I figured he wasn't interested anymore. "But she's a good solid fuck once she gets some wine in her and lights a bunch of candles and shit. She talks the whole fucking time. Why does it take so long to get ready to fuck anyway?" It was a rhetorical question. He sat up with a dreamy look, lifted his hands like grasping melons and hummed loudly. "Mmmmmmmmm, those big ol' juicy, luscious tits though. I forgot what that's like to bury my face in those." He messaged the imaginary boobs then sniffed deeply. Was he recalling Amanda's perfume or Beth's? His eyes shifted and caught me watching. "So, fuck yeah it was worth it! I might have to hit that pussy again. Ya know?" He said with a conspiratorial grin and a little hump that almost toppled the computer again. Was he gauging my reaction in the mirror? There was a chill on my exposed chest and the breast forms felt heavy. I pulled the flaps of the silk robe together with one hand. What do I say? I fell back on old habits. He'd never been bashful about the details when we were young and there were a few stories I remembered with special fondness. "Yeah?" I asked. "Did you make her beg for it?" He laughed ruefully. "You remember how I hate to just give it away? Sorry, no begging this time. I don't know, maybe I'm out of practice. Once she unleashed those titties I couldn't hold back. It's been a while, ya know?" He messaged the imaginary melons again and even poked out the tip of his tongue to tease an imaginary nipple. I couldn't help picturing Beth in place of Amanda, arching her back and offering her breasts. Who's were better? That question occupied my mind for some reason. Although they went on a number of dates they only had sex three times and Amanda talked the whole fucking time. And she refused to go down on him. Maybe that's why I didn't worry too much about her. 'Some slut Tom's using' is how I thought of her to be honest. It was always satisfying to wash her smell out of his clothes though. After Rachael told her dad about the 'coat incident' I never needed to do that again. ++ Beth's dressing table It looked like another jewelery box, another necklace or a string of pearls that Rachael or Susan would inherit one day. There were dozens of small containers of various kinds in Beth's dressing table that I'd been sorting though, making way for some of my own things since I'd begun to spend so much time on that little padded stool. It was mostly mundane stuff like lotion and old makeup but there were also quite a few very personal items I was unsure what to do with. There was some very old jewelry in individual boxes (perhaps family heirlooms?), two fragile, sexy lingerie sets packed in special lined boxes and even a set of pink, fur-padded handcuffs in a velvet bag. It felt like an invasion of Beth's privacy but the job needed to be done. Most women probably keep a sex toy or two around, much like how guys keep porn magazines, so it shouldn't have been a surprise. It was just weird to imagine a such a vibrator in Tom's room. It was a small thing, maybe four inches total, like a big purple rubber finger with a little nub poking out one side and a silver base. I didn't want to touch it and yet had to know if it still worked. Imagine where it has been, right? When it started I dropped it like an idiot, knocking the box on the floor and sending the purple finger under the stool where it buzzed furiously. A stack of pictures poked out of the lining of the box lid. What kind of pictures does a beautiful woman keep beside her vibrator? I feared they might feature Tom in some from of undress so proceeded cautiously, poking the stack with a finger until Beth's face appeared. Beth was the star of all five pictures. Two of the pictures showed her standing near this very table in a different room dressed in lingerie, some of which I recognized; garter and stockings, stiletto heels, demi-bra and thong covered by a super sheer babydoll that didn't close under her swollen boobs. They might have gone out somewhere important that evening because her makeup was elaborate and perfect: long fake lashes and smokey eyes. Too perfect for the end of a long evening out actually. To be honest, while the pictures were extremely sexy in some ways they couldn't have been the most flattering pictures ever taken of Bethany. She must have recently given birth to one of the girls because her face and legs looked flabby and her belly skin hung over the thong, slightly wrinkled and discolored. Her boobs were so swollen the demi-bra in the set (which I know are D cups) couldn't hold everything in place. She'd positioned the cups to cover her aureoles but breast flesh bulged from the top, bottom and sides. In one photo, Beth faced the camera leaning slightly forward with an uncertain smile and a wet spot on one cup. Was that a milk stain? In the second she's in profile, bent at the waist and turned sightly so her belly hung down, a slightly saggy butt cheek stuck out toward the camera and the bra appeared ready to snap under the weight. The position appeared uncomfortable and made her look fat. Her smile was big but obviously forced. She didn't look particularly happy in either photo. The other three pictures were a series of her on her knees, looking up at the camera, obviously taken by Tom after, well, I guess you could say sex. She had the same makeup as the other photos and one of the stiletto heels was clearly visible over one shoulder, so all the photos must have been taken at the same time. One showed her angelic upturned face with streaks of white cum everywhere. A line crossed one closed eye and a little puddle of white sat on her tongue. In the next, perhaps a few seconds later, the pink tongue extends to touch a thick, white glob on her upper lip. In the last her eyes are open, a string of goo held up by the absurdly long lashes, staring up at the camera with what appears to be genuine happiness. Except for the angry smear of lipstick around her mouth and the nasty globs on her face she could have been an angel in rapture. Beth was a beautiful woman. Of all the pictures that might have been taken of her over the years, why would she keep these, especially as masturbation aides? Why would she allow Tom to take pictures like these in the first place? For a moment I speculated that Tom might use the photos himself, which would mean he used the vibrator, then I regretted touching the thing. But that didn't make sense. The box had to be Beth's. I put it all away in the darkest corner of the lowest drawer and covered it with other boxes. I knew then that Tom wasn't completely full of shit about Beth's submissiveness in the bedroom. At some point she posed for those pictures, right? She dressed in those clothes that so exaggerated her plumpness because Tom requested it, surely, and although she didn't appear happy about it, she struck those sexy poses. And she even allowed him to cum on her face and then photograph the results! What a woman, right? That smile was real, I was convinced of that. The pictures were erotic and repulsive at the same time. ++ Winter "What's this? Double bras?" Tom asked with a laugh, handing me the knit sweater he'd just shucked off of me unceremoniously. He caught one bra strap with a finger and pulled. I clutched the sweater under my breasts, in case he tried to unhook me. He looking around back there for a minute, pushing my hair aside and stretching the strap up and down, side to side. He should have been unzipping my skirt so I could get on with my business. The 'double bra' is so comfortable I'd forgotten about it. Of course Tom would notice. 'It's something I'm trying out, for comfort. You've probably noticed that I've been growing?" I couldn't help waving my bust a bit, so he would understand. He was looking straight down my bra, still tugging that strap, feeling the satin, so he could see what was going on just fine. A light cotton bra held my real breasts tight and protected. Over it, an F-cup held Beth's breasts. The forms didn't completely cover the bra underneath so it wasn't pretty, but my nipples were safe. "When you put me and Beth together in here, it can chafe in some delicate places," I said with a nervous laugh, waving my chest again for no good reason. "I need to get some smaller ones that, you know, fit my shape better." "No," he said without hesitation. "Those are Beth's." Like I was talking about giving them away or something. "I'm getting too big, Tom. Beth's forms weren't made for my shape in any case. I can get everything online, new forms and all, don't worry about it. Now unzip me." I slid the crumpled sweater up a bit higher to block his view and stuck my butt out so he could find the zipper. "No," he said again, still running that finger up and down my strap, faster than before. "No, that's...no, that's not a good idea. I mean, what about....?" He almost said Rachael's name. "That's what I'm talking about," I said, pushing my butt out farther since he couldn't seem to find it. "They'll fit my shape better and I can retire Beth's forms before they wear out. You'll see. Unzip me." I tested to see if I might pull away but he had the bra strap. Finally he relented. Expert fingers pinched the tiny clasp that's always so difficult to hook and the zipper descended. In my mind, the sound will always be associated those close moments with Tom. I took a step, out of his grasp, and bent my knees to the retrieve the skirt. Tom stalked away, shaking his head. "No," he said again, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me pick up his slacks and shirt. I couldn't wait to sit down and take off my makeup. He settled back and appraised me seriously. I must have looked absurd in very formal 3" slingbacks, dark blue control panty hose pulled up to my ribs and two mismatched bras. Tall and slim with oversized boobs but silly. I covered what I could with the laundry and ducked out of the room to add to the pile in the hall. "No," he said again the instant I returned and the door was closed. "Don't do that." "Don't do what?" I asked, hurrying to the closet. He was typing furiously. One hand paused to flutter around his chest area. "Don't buy the, uhh, the things you're talking about. Those are Beth's." What did that have to do with anything? I grabbed the comfortable gown waiting inside the closet and dropped it over my head, ready in case he wanted something from the kitchen. "I just wanted ..." He cut me off. "We'll talk about it later. I'll take a porter." The gown was warm, my legs felt great when they touched and my boobs were under control for a change. I needed to get the shoes and makeup off and there were a few more chores to take care of tonight before bed time. There was enough laundry in the hall for two loads. Or I could argue with a brick wall. I didn't have a beer, because of the growth mentioned earlier. It wasn't all in my breasts. I did have a sip of his before I handing it over. I like to watch his face when he takes that first drink. Can he tell my mouth has been there? Would he care? It's not like we hadn't swapped a little spit at that at point, right? + "Actually, that's a great idea," the doctor said, leaning forward to grab his cell phone. "I wish more parents were as involved in their daughter's development as you two." Tom glanced at me and nodded as if that settled everything. It hardly made sense at all. I absently flipped another page in the notebook on my lap. Another 'before' shot, this time a sad, limp little pair on a thin, pale chest, nipples blurred, and the 'after,' a splendid, natural looking rack I would be quite happy to suck. The caption said '34C.' "What about these. They look good. I mean, we don't really know what's going to happen with Rachael yet." I said for about the tenth time. "We want to be sure though," Tom said quickly without even turning, "why cut corners now, right?" The doctor punched at his phone, nodding in agreement with him without listening. "In fact, we just had a cancellation for next week. Would you like to make an appointment now?" He asked me. When I hesitated he stood up, still looking at his phone, and walked around to our side of the desk. "Why don't you two talk it over. I'll be right back." Tom didn't wait. "The sooner the better I say." "Please Tom. Slow down." I said, pausing for the doctor to leave. "We haven't decided anything yet." The door clicked shut. We were alone. Tom turned to me and leaned close, frustration written on his face. We'd been flipping through books and I'd been modeling bags of rice stuffed into bras for two hours. He made up his mind within the first 5 minutes. He roughly grabbed a familiar book off my lap and flipped it open on the desk. "We drove two hours to the best plastic surgeon in the state and he can give us exactly what we want next week. What's the problem?' He found the page and tapped it with a finger. The before picture wasn't bad. The after picture was nothing short of spectacular. We agreed they were the best pair of boobs in the bunch. Even in a doctor's office they gave me a sexual tingle. Unfortunately, part of the reason we both liked them so much was the size. The caption said: "36DD" "They're so big! What if I keep growing?" "What if Rachael keeps growing?" He countered. Basically a continuation of the argument we'd been having for a week. "That's why new forms would be perfect. We can get any size we need," I replied, half under my breath. He gave me the same disappointed look as always. I could hear the words coming. "Rachael doesn't get that option." "I'd have to buy all new bras," I whined. He doesn't know if that's true. He laughed. "You're running out of excuses if that's the best you can do. I've seen the clothes budget, you know." The truth is, my boobs, small as they were then had already proven to be a lot of trouble. They're right there in front for everyone to see and have zero control without a bra. The reason for all the padding in an already large bra is so obvious now, so big pokey nipples don't show, but of course the padding adds to the size of the bumps on my chest so I can't even hide them anymore without a heavy coat. The knockers in the picture would have a life all their own and could never be hidden. I was afraid of them and lusted for them at the same time. Tom couldn't take his eyes off the picture and that was just one more worry. I couldn't help thinking of some guy looking at me or even Rachael with that dopy, slack-jawed expression that made me want to hit him on the side of the head with whatever was in my hands. How was Rachael going to deal with that situation? Fuck! There wasn't much choice. The notebook was bulkier than expected but I got him a pretty good clunk on the back of the head. It had to hurt but of course he only snatched the book away and laughed at my weak attempt. + So much can happen in a couple of weeks, and yet so little. We made the appointment, which raised some awkward questions about my current medications, which caused a referral to a counselor. It took another three months to get things straightened out but in the end it was all for the best. The medical industry isn't completely crazy. I explained the situation, without mentioning some of the odder details, and she nodded knowingly as if she'd heard it all before. She explained, and I agreed, that it was unwise to continue taking random pills so she adjusted those to fit someone like me, a man considering life as a woman. "Why do you want to enlarge your breasts?" That's what she asked me every meeting. Oh, we discussed Tom and the girls plenty and I got some great parenting tips but the central question was always there. "They have to be for you. How would you feel if your so-called friend Tom got breast enlargement simply because he thought you would like it?" I smiled at the image but got the point. "And the girls have to believe it's for you. Don't you think they'll ask why you're doing this? I hope you aren't going make them responsible for your surgery." That made sense, so I set about convincing her, over the course of a dozen visits, that I really, truly wanted bigger breasts. It was good practice for later. Of course I ended up at the same boob doctor, signing the rest of the documents that would eventually lead to a set of double Ds. Tom wanted me to be prepared for Rachael and Suzy's questions, right? It just took longer than expected. ++ At the mall You ever get a song stuck in your head? How about a song you've always hated before but, as it plays over and over in your head, you begin to appreciate whatever was it you found disagreeable before, the words suddenly start speaking to you or the tune that grated before is now bouncy and fun? It was like that. The idea got stuck in my head in the mall of all places, innocently waiting in the food court with the days packages for Tom and the girls to return from the bathroom. Two middle aged women a few tables away were talking loudly when it occurred to me that they must be talking about me. Sidelong glances then pointed stares made that clear. I was dressed conservatively enough in a long, loose dress and hair up in a scarf. There's no hiding my bust anymore if I ventured out in the forms. That required an F cup, but there was no cleavage. There was nothing scandalous about me. They were intent on finding offense anyway. "Well, you can see why he likes her," The dumpy blonde said with a sniff. She mouthed the word 'slut.' "Yes, and with those two young girls in the same house," replied the brunette with no chin in a stage whisper. She shook her head in disgust. I heard the word 'whore.' They both glared at me, daring me to respond. The comments were so wrongheaded that I couldn't be angry though. It was actually kind of funny to hear those words coming out of such sour old ladies, especially in reference to me. In Tom's bedroom, they would be the sluts and whores, not me. Besides, Tom wasn't getting any of this, that's for sure, free or otherwise. The idea was ridiculous. When you think about it, I was kind of enjoying the privileges of a girlfriend or a kept woman or whatever those old women imagined I was to Tom but I certainly wasn't preforming the usual girlfriend functions. It dawned on me for the first time that everyone might think that way. My initial reaction was a mix of disgust and curiosity. I glanced around at the other tables. Most people minded there own business but there were a few furtive looks. You know what I mean. What do all those people think I am to Tom? A gold digging girlfriend, using her big boobs to good effect? Or some poor, adoring girl, smitten by her handsome employer? They probably all thought we were having sex! And here I'd been worried that they might think I'm a man. I came out of my revery with a shudder to find the two old women still staring at me, shaking their heads. If they could only hear my thoughts and see what their hate inspired. Both of those pompous church ladies had been fucked before, no doubt, and they probably had a cock in their mouth at some point. They survived the experience and whatever they sucked, it was probably a lot worse that Tom's. I imagined the plump one on her knees with Tom's cock in her mouth. Given the chance she would probably go for it. You should have seen their faces when Tom and the girls appeared. The sneers disappeared, they sat up straight and touched their hair. Susan swirled around our table while I doled out cash to Rachael then they were off, searching for food. Tom stood over the table and shook his head in disgust at the piles of shopping bags. His look of disapproval was exactly like the two ladies, something else they had in common. "When you get a chance, check out the two ladies at the table behind you. They called me a slut." I said quietly with a laugh. I thought he would find it was funny. He spun in place, looked at the two women who waved in recognition then he spun back. His eyes squinted in anger and his fists clinched like he might hit me. "Tommy, calm down. It's no big deal." I said soothingly, grabbing a wrist in case he decided to attacked them. Because, you know, I could hold him back. He did the head-shake thing, clearing out the cobwebs, glanced at the old gals who were watching us like a soap opera then he smiled and nodded at me. "It is a big deal, Morgan, but I know what to do. I apologize for not doing it before." Tom Hannover apologized to me! By the time I recovered he was towering over their table and the two bitches were blushing and giddy, basking in his oozing charm. I couldn't make out his words but they were apparently his biggest fans and both adored his beautiful family. At one point he maneuvered himself between the women and crouched down so that the brunette could feel his bicep! What could he have said to her to cause that to happen? She used both hands! He stood up and gestured to me with a wink. Come here. His crotch was between the women, right at eye level. It was like we were in high school again. Could they be so oblivious? That was a long slow walk around our table, dodging the chairs while being watched by that group. What was Tom up to? "Ladies. I'd like to introduce the best nanny the girls have ever had. Morgan. We are very old friends and the girls love her." He beamed a sincere grin at me that gave me the confidence to go ahead. I nodded, stepped forward and offered a hand that was ignored then I stepped back and watched. They only had eyes for Tom. He introduced them, 'Dumpy' and 'Chinless', if I remember correctly, then I could have disappeared for all anyone cared, except for a quick, sly glance from Tom that suggested mischief was coming. I looked over my shoulder for the girls, suddenly guilty that I'd forgotten them for a few minutes. They were in line for pizza, both talking happily at once. "Well, you know, we just worry how things might look. You understand," Dumpy gushed up at him in a smitten school girl voice. "People talk!" Added Chinless in a sing-song. I bit my lips to keep from laughing and tasted lipstick. Tom went ahead and laughed out loud, as if the idea of people talking about him was absurd. His eyes twinkled. "You don't have to worry about us ladies," he said spreading his hands around them and nudging them closer. "Morgan here has a fiance' back home." He rubbed their shoulders, smiled down and pulled them even closer to his groin. "And they're saving themselves for marriage," he added with a big grin that told everyone how proud he was of me. The women clapped. Seriously. A little clap that didn't require them to leave Tom's grasp. They all looked at me with pride. I looked at the floor so they couldn't see my face, because I'm a demure nanny and all. "Oh, good for you. So rare these days," the ladies chirped. A tall man told them I'm a virgin and that's good enough for them apparently. When I looked up he had them both leaning sideways in their chairs, inches from the front of his slacks, gazing up from their seats dreamily. Chinless' fingers absently stroked Tom's hand on her shoulder. The scene could have been the beginning of a really bad porn movie. Tom's eyes were definitely twinkling. You have to wonder what they would have done if we weren't all in the middle of a brightly lit food court. Fortunately, Tom isn't completely crazy. "Well, there's the girls," he said suddenly. Rachael appeared at my elbow. Tom stepped back and the ladies turned on me as if I were the cause of their loss. Their smiles were syrupy. "You must bring the girls to Sunday school sometime," Dumpy said menacingly. "Yes. The reverend would love to meet you all," Chinless added in a tone that suggested something other than friendliness. "Susan needs you right now!" Rachael said quickly. She made it sound like an order, clever girl. So I left Tom to clean up the mess. A few minutes later he loomed over the table, gave the 'thumbs up' sign and snatched my soda. It was a small price to pay. + Once the nice church ladies planted the idea there was no getting rid of it. When I thought of those pious ladies tittering and preening themselves over Tom, I couldn't help thinking about the front of his pants and what was in there. It would be a fun experiment to see what Tom could make one of them do, don't you think? Does that make me a bad person? They would probably both go for it like cats to cream, so what makes them better than me? They, along with everyone else at the mall, believed Tom and I are already doing it! You're probably thinking, "How stupid could Morgan be?" Right? In my defense, I had a lot of other stuff on my mind at the time. Tom and I shared a bedroom many a night years ago. I'd seen him naked a hundred times then and never once considered touching the damned thing. It had flopped it's hairy way from the bathroom to the dresser more than once since I started visiting his room and I just looked away, like any guy. Suddenly I was curious what it looked like. And how could I even do that? Be intimate with Tom? So it bumped me once or twice and he didn't hide it that well when he sprawled on his bed, if you know what I mean. We liked the same things in a woman and I was working hard to look like her, so yeah, I'll admit, I looked for that little adjustment he does sometimes. I know what it means. It's kind of exciting to be desired like that when you think about it, assuming I was even the cause? That's the question. You know how cocks are, they have a mind of their own. When I tried to picture myself pulling down his underwear he was limp, the way I've seen him all the times before. I just couldn't picture Tom hard. What would he think if I touched it? What if I touched it and it didn't get hard!? Once questions like that get stuck in your head, there's no way to get them out. There had been some touching that suggested he wouldn't mind if we got intimate: over tight hugs that pressed my fake boobs into his chest, hands rather low on the back, that sort of thing. Had we progressed beyond the father/daughter intimacy he had with the girls? I got the same kiss in the morning; one, two, three and he was gone. Sometimes in the evening I found myself in line for a final goodnight peck and just went with it. When he left for an away game there were some lingering hugs. Once or twice a hard spot bumped me. I'm certain he wouldn't let it bump the girls. So I let it happen, OK. It's kind of flattering. But Tom is the one who had made it happen. He put my arms around his neck and gripped my waist like he might lift me off the ground. He decided how long a kiss should last or what parts of our bodies touch in a hug. Guys know when their dicks bump something. And of course, there was the bedroom. He saw me dressing and undressing regularly but that was about it. If he was in his room he was in his underwear so I was too. Beth's underwear anyway, at first. Somehow I convinced myself it was all innocent enough, maybe because Beth's breasts were always there as a reminder. They were unavoidable, poking up from even the biggest 'full coverage' bra when he shucked off my dress or blouse and they only became more prominent as my surgery date approached and the corrected hormones worked their magic. He never said anything but I always got the impression he didn't want to touch them. It was like he was just making sure they were there. Then we were kids again, laying around a cluttered room in our underwear, bullshitting about something, usually sports, only with the weird twist that I loved more and more each time; the wonderful clothes. There was always something to do; putting on or taking off makeup, hair and nails, picking up the clutter, going for beer or swishing in and out of the closet in outfits to gauge Tom's reaction. He was busy working or he had a funny story or there was a problem at work and he just needed to bounce some ideas off a neutral party. I got quality alone time with Tom Hannover, something most people would pay for, so what's not to love? Completely innocent, right? + "Morgan? Is that you?" A familiar voice asked close behind me. Rachael disappeared around the back of the minivan, already late for her game, too far away to help. "It's me, Taylor. From the grocery store," the voice said. When I glanced over my shoulder she was there by the drivers seat door, blocking my escape. So far I'd avoided direct contact with the soccer moms. I'm just the nanny or the driver as far as anyone needs to know. Taylor waved with one hand and shielded her eyes with the other. Her think blonde hair flutter freely in the breeze. She had all of her teeth. We'd exchanged a few words in the grocery store since our first encounter, brief hellos mostly. She wheedled basic information about Tom and the girls out of me before I came up with the brilliant idea of claiming professional confidence. As a nanny, I couldn't discuss details of my client lives. She'd smiled and replied cryptically, "I understand. My daughter is studying cosmetology." It didn't make sense at the time. She wore a heavy coat like everyone else but the neck was open far lower than necessary and a delightful jiggle was going on in the gap. The store smock did not do Taylor justice. I always think of Tom when I spot a great pair. My elbow wants to nudge him."Hey, check those out!" Guys know what I mean. As she approached I could see the swells of Taylor's breasts were speckled with goosebumps and tiny freckles. I wanted to ask "aren't they were cold?" but knew better. "Yeah, I like to let the girls out sometimes," she said, smiling and waving them in front of my eyes. "Its kind of cold today though." She stopped close enough to touch and looked around the parking lot absently, as if waiting. OMG! I suddenly realized I was staring straight at her boobs, lost in wonder at what lay inside the warm cleft of her coat. What kind of bra does she need for those? Were her nipples hard in that achy sort of way I was learning about? And why was she was just standing there so close, allowing my inspection? "What are you doing here?" I asked, recovering my senses enough to look away. I scanned the parking lot myself, pretending to look for Suzy, acutely aware of the tightness of my own, smaller bra. I couldn't wear the forms anymore, except in Tim's room and around the house once in a while, just to remind myself of the weight. The surgery was more than a month away and I was still vacillating over whether to go through with it. Even under a heavy coat, a sweater and two shirts you could see my real lumps. With the surgery they would probably be as large as Taylor's incredible pair! It was like her coat couldn't contain them. She turned and sat on the lip of the van, actually improving my view. My mouth was dry. "Oh, I'm here to watch my grandson play soccer. They run around like a bunch of cats in their little uniforms. It's just so darned cute!" She wiggled her shoulders, sighed heavily and leaned back, revealing even more flesh. A dark tan-line then a quarter inch of white skin and a hint of red under the coat. Lace. "I thought so," she said quietly without moving. She was studying my face, up close. She caught me again! I leaped back, from my own car, and looked away. In that moment she could have run off with anything I owned. "It's OK. Don't be all nervous, I was only looking at your hair," she said in a soothing voice. "Who cuts it?" She could barely see my hair. It was loose down my back and the bangs, too long again, were held back by a headband covered by a thick warm stocking cap. A few frizzy strands were loose, as always, and wiggled around my face in the breeze. Maybe she was talking about those. I pushed a few under the cap which only set others free. Why was I so nervous? Was I getting sloppy with my shaving or makeup? Had she seen something? Eventually I had to do this right? For the girls. But I had to stop looking down her coat. "I'm sorry. I, umm, I just don't usually talk to people here. You surprised me." I said. She crossed her legs, one calf high rubber boot, pink, over the other, and her coat opened to just above the knee for a moment. She was wearing dark hose under the coat. "Well I don't want to make you nervous," she said, kicking the toe of her pink boot up and down. I know what that feels like now. She tossed her hair and glanced at her nails. Both were perfect, so was her makeup. It was 8:30 in the morning! I had on a dirty sports bra, sweatpants and a football jersey, XXL, under a sweater and a heavy coat. She made me nervous alright. Where was Tom when I needed him? "I've been meaning to give you my daughter's card," she said, opening her purse. She flipped a pink card out and held it between two very long perfect, blood red nails. Mine still had green chips from an experiment last week. "Go on. You would be very pretty with a little help." The boot tip bounced, waiting. It's a very pleasant feeling. She stood up suddenly and looked across the cars. We were the same height. "There's my husband. I'll just leave the card here." She placed it on the cooler then touched my arm. "Please give her a call. Nadine's a wonderful girl, very understanding, and to be honest, she could use the business." She laughed and held up her hand. A tall man a few cars away noticed the gesture and turned his head. He was almost bald with round glasses and sunken jowls. He reminded me of an owl. He was enormously tall. Taller than Tom because I could see his chest and sloping shoulders above the cars. He had to be 10 years her senior. She waved more vigorously. From my angle I could see a lot of lace inside the coat. The swells jiggled happily. "That's Jim. My husband. He's a professor at the university," She said, oddly excited about the fact. That's the confusing thing about women. A moment ago she had me wrapped around her finger, so flustered by her tits and legs that she was almost giving me orders from inside my own car. Then, suddenly, she's a gibbering girl, fluffing her hair and searching her purse for lipstick, all over a tall goony-bird of a man. And what was up with the boobs and lace and a grandson? I blurted it out. "That's you're husband? You're a grandmother?" My mouth gaped open, afraid to go on. "Thank you," she said with a huge smile, touching my arm again. "That's my Jim. I snared him in my first year of college and don't plan on letting him go any time soon. " I pictured the goofy professor and a young Taylor, all tits and blonde hair. It didn't compute. "Please call Nadine," she said softly and reached out to touch my arm again. Her boobs were pink and pebbly from the cold. I couldn't stop looking at them. I had to ask. "Aren't you freezing?" "Actually, I'm freezing my ass off," she said with a big smile. She shivered her whole body like a stripper and stamped her feet. She glanced around the lot. Jim was nearer, no longer watching us. She leaned in and whispered "Today is Jim's birthday. He never says it but every year he wants the same thing." She shrugged and bounced slightly. "What does he want?" I asked stupidly. "What every man wants, whether he says it or not. You know?" She looked into my eyes and could see I didn't get it. She fumbled at her belt and opened the coat on one side. Underneath I could see the dark stocking, a flash of pale thigh, a garter strap. Red lace that hugged the curve of a hip. The coat closed. Her head bobbed slightly, her hand worked front of her mouth and her tongue poked her cheek out, over and over. "Oh. My. God," I shouted, exactly like Rachael, and covered my mouth to stifle my nervous laughter. She wiggled her eyebrows and re-knotted the coat. "I know how to keep my man happy" she said with a wink then she turned away and walked briskly down the row to meet her husband. The hair bounced. She threw me another quick smile, took his arm and rounded the corner. A small boy in blue soccer shorts that almost dragging the ground, passed by in a flash. Then a younger version of Taylor stepped into view, stopped and dropped a heavy bag on the ground. The hair was almost the same. She was wearing the exact some heavy coat over jeans and work boots. The belt was pulled tight and yes, she had her mother's figure. Our eyes met for a moment and my heart stopped. She was beautiful. The dark eyes looked away. The red lips said something, yelling to the child. She bent low and lifted the bag again, her nails flashing the same red as her mom, and she disappeared. Nadine. It had to be. Usually when I see a beautiful woman I think of Tom. What would Tom do? It's sick, I know. More than once I'd speculated what would happen if I put he and Taylor together. But he could never meet Nadine. She was mine. I hide the card in my purse, started the van and turned the heater on high.